On the Job
by la-rubinita
Summary: In which Castiel forces a horribly-timed epiphany.  Written for spn 30snapshots on LJ, number 15.2.  R for language, action violence and boys kissing.


15.2

"When shall we three meet again?"

"Dude, seriously, I know you're old, but you sound like friggin' Shakespeare when you say shit like that."

"Shakespeare did say that, Dean," Sam said.

"Is this an inappropriate turn of phrase?" Castiel said, tilting his head to the side. "I know I am inexperienced with modern vernacular, but the grammar is correct."

Dean groaned, because living with a nerd and a socially-inept former angel wasn't always all it was cracked up to be.

"Twenty minutes" – Dean said, not bothering to hide his exasperation – "that's when we three shall meet again. Cas, you go left. Sam, you go right. I'll zig-zag up the middle, and we'll meet at the Ferris wheel then hit the pier."

Sam sighed and made his I'm Going to Bitch, but I Don't Have a Better Plan face.

"Dean, there are thousands of people here," he said, gesturing to the fair grounds. "How are we supposed to flush out one Shifter? He could be anyone, and we don't even know for sure if he's here."

"No, but Cas winged him with a silver bullet back in the parking garage. He's wounded, and he knows we know what he looks like and where he lives. He's gonna need a new face, and a place to lay low for a while. You got a better suggestion?"

Sam clenched his jaw and Dean knew he'd won.

"Excellent. Let's wrap this up tonight. I wanna go to the beach tomorrow."

"That would be a nice reprieve," Castiel concurred, and Dean's stomach flipped a little at the smile crinkling his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "I am ashamed to admit I never recognized how physically taxing your lifestyle can be."

"See, even Cas wants to go," Dean said, clapping Castiel on the back. His fingers tingled where they brushed the skin of Cas' neck, which was stupid, because what was he? Fifteen?

Only Cas had a similar reaction, and leaned into the touch before realizing what he was doing and standing up straighter for it.

Dean removed his hand. He thought maybe he'd have to take to taping his arms to his sides, because he found himself wanting to touch Cas more and more every day. It didn't help that they were practically in each other's pockets nowadays, or that Cas still had almost no concept of personal space, or that once he was out of that ridiculous suit and trench coat he was actually pretty fit, in a lean, wiry sort of way. The whole thing was getting damned distracting, and maybe if Dean removed the ability, the temptation would fade. Maybe.

"So quit being such a girl and let's gank this thing."

.

Dean was about halfway to the Ferris wheel when he found an ear. It was just lying there in the middle of the thoroughfare, right between a ring-toss stand and a vendor selling dough-boys. The bit of flesh was unnervingly gelatinous, and kind of gooey on the backside, which Dean still thought was gross even after all these years.

Dean followed the trail of body parts, thinking it odd that he had yet to find a puddle of slimy Shifter flesh mixed with discarded clothes. He wondered if Cas' bullet had done more damage than they'd realized, and the thing was literally falling apart.

After several minutes of wading through oblivious carnival-goers and dodging security while sneaking around the backs of rides, Dean found a chunk of forearm next to a carousel that had a giant 'Out of Order' sign hanging from it. It was somewhat removed from the main fairgrounds, and would be a good place to hide out for a while. The door to the machinery room had been jimmied, and Dean stealthily withdrew his gun from his coat and nudged the door open.

He poked his head in, leading with the gun, and when he saw nothing, took a step inside. The machine room was smaller than he'd thought it would be. He found nothing, which was annoying, because he'd been pretty sure he'd at least have found where the Shifter had morphed into its shiny new body.

Confused and maybe a teensy bit discouraged, Dean left. He hopped easily down from the platform and suddenly found Cas standing directly in front of him. He came out of nowhere, which was unsettling, because Cas hadn't been able to whizz around on invisible wings for some time.

"Dean."

"Shit, Cas," Dean said. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be—"

"Dean, look out!"

Seeing another Cas running at him had been the last thing Dean expected.

"Shit."

The Cas in front of him was wearing the same clothes Cas had put on that morning, the other a pair of jeans and t-shirt that were about two sizes too large. But the one running at him had Cas' gun, and they were both looking a little banged up. It also just occurred to Dean that the bits of flesh left all over the place had been a really macabre trail of bread crumbs designed to lead him to that very spot, but, as both were present and accounted for, it was impossible to tell which had laid it.

Long story short, Dean didn't know which was Cas and which was the Shifter. Dean couldn't even play Twenty Questions, either, because Shifters absorbed the memories of the people they became.

Dean hastily stepped back so he wasn't trapped between the Castiels and the carousel and raised his gun. The second Cas skidded to a halt not far from the first.

"I came to tell you the Shifter had changed into me," First Cas said.

"I came to shoot him," Second Cas said, canting his head toward his double.

"Damnit, Cas, why'd you have to go and get doppleganged? Hands up, both of you, and put the gun down."

"It was not intentional," they replied in unison, which was just freaking _creepy_.

Second Cas glared at First Cas, but very carefully did as Dean instructed, kicking the weapon toward Dean. "You're going to have to shoot one of us."

Didn't Dean know it. But the prospect of shooting the real Cas was intensely unappealing. Dean had done a lot of fucked up shit in his day, but shooting Cas would totally make the top five.

First Cas dared a half a step forward, and Dean swung his gun toward him, aiming it between his best friend's eyes.

"Dean," First Cas said. "It's me. I pulled your soul from the pit. You bear my mark." He paused. "We had pancakes for breakfast."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you're Cas," Dean said. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"What will convince you?" Second Cas said.

"I don't know!" Dean barked. "Just stop talking so I can think."

Second Cas huffed impatiently, blowing his shaggy hair off his forehead. He must have picked it up from Sam. Then, before Dean could even process what was happening, he closed the space between them, forced the gun to the side and pressed his lips to Dean's. They were soft and dry, the kiss stiff and uncertain but so damned earnest, and Cas' breath tasted faintly of the onions he'd had on his hamburger at lunch. Long, graceful fingers found their way to the back of Dean's neck, like they were made to fit there, and Dean thought his heart would freeze in his chest when the sharp jut of hipbones brushed against his own.

When Cas pulled away – and it was _definitely_ Cas, because only the real Cas would ever think to fill the demand for silence with action like that – his face was as inscrutable as ever, his gaze as intense.

Dean was dumbstruck. Because that? What just happened? It was what they had been working towards – and fighting against – since that first night in the barn where Dean had tried to thank the being who pulled him out of Hell by trying to kill him six ways from Sunday. It was the sum of all the inadvertent touches, the marathon staring contests, all the fries Dean let Cas steal off his plate when he thought he wasn't looking, and all the times Cas had sat up with him watching crappy infomercials because Hell was still lurking in the corners of Dean's mind just waiting for sleep to take him.

It was amazing.

"Fuck," the Shifter swore. Then he bolted.

Dean snapped back to his senses and fired a shot at his retreating form, but the Shifter ducked around the carousel and out of sight. The next instant Cas snatched his gun from the ground, like nothing had happened, and they were sprinting after him.

The gunshot had been loud, the rapport ringing throughout the carnival, carrying over most of the ambient noise, and the crowds parted in fear as Dean and Cas raced past, toting guns. Even so, they still had trouble keeping up with the Shifter. He was unnaturally quick, slithering through the crowd like a snake and making it especially difficult to keep sight of him.

Dean didn't know when he lost Cas, but he did. It didn't really make much sense, because, though Dean would never dare admit it aloud, Cas was faster than he was. It had taken some training (and a lot of patience on Sam's part, because Dean was a run-when-something's-chasing-you kind of guy), but Cas had become agile and lithe, and was down-right speedy when he needed to be, even if he usually allowed Dean to lead.

Dean tried not to think about where he went, and focused on keeping the Shifter in sight.

He lost the Shifter for a moment when a clown (why'd it have to be a _clown?_) making animal balloons stopped in the middle of the path, apparently unaware that there were men with guns in the carnival.

Speaking of which, Dean wondered how long it would be before the police closed in on them.

Then there was a shrill scream not too far ahead, so Dean ploughed by the creepy sonofabitch with a shouted 'Move!' and kept running.

Dean saw Sam first, freakishly tall as he was, and when the crowd cleared, he realized that he had the Shifter with his back against the pier. But nothing was ever that easy; not for them. The Shifter had taken a hostage, a teenaged girl, all knees and elbows and long blonde hair. A girl who resembled her enough to be a sister was screaming behind Sam, who had his gun raised. The Shifter had Cas' silver knife to the girl's neck.

Dean skidded to a halt and aimed his gun, too, causing more screaming from the surrounding crowd.

"Let her go, you piece of shit," Dean shouted, leveling his pistol at the Shifter.

"Dean—"

"It's the Shifter. Trust me," Dean said, though he doubted Sam needed much convincing.

"Where's Cas?"

"Dunno. We split up."

"Just let her go, man," Sam said to the Shifter. "There's no reason for any more innocent people to die today."

"Fuck you, hunter," the Shifter spat. "I give you the girl, and the only thing I'll get for it is one of those shiny silver bullets between my eyes."

It was eerie to see such malevolence on Cas' face. Dean hated it. If he'd ever doubted that this was the Shifter, he certainly didn't anymore.

"Put your guns down, or I open her up."

The girl's sister wailed, but Sam stilled her with an arm thrown back, keeping her behind him. When they hesitated to obey, however, the Shifter drew the blade upward, pressing it even farther into the girl's flesh. She whimpered, and Sam muttered invectives beneath his breath.

"All right," Sam said, reluctantly lowering his weapon. He spread his hands wide and dangled the gun from his trigger finger before bending and setting it on the ground. "Just let the girl go."

"How do we know you won't kill her anyway?" Dean demanded, not quite so willing to disarm himself.

The Shifter sneered. "You don't. But you don't have much of a choice, do you?"

"I could always shoot you anyway."

"You think your hands are quicker than mine? Go ahead."

"Dean," Sam said, a warning and appeal all rolled into one word. "Listen, my brother's going to put his gun down, but you've got to let her go."

Dean ground his teeth and adjusted his grip on the gun anxiously. The fact was, he _wasn't_ sure he was a quicker draw than the Shifter, and they were, well, shifty. Nothing he said could be trusted, and, as an evil sonofabitch, he was just as likely to slice the girl's throat open as let her go.

Then, out of nowhere, there was Cas. He darted in from the left and tackled the Shifter to the ground. He hit him with so much force that his hold was completely broken on the girl, who stumbled forward and fell, the knife skittering across the pavement. Sam was there in an instant, helping her up and leading her away, then standing his sasquatch body in front of as many people as he could, trying to keep the rubberneckers out of harm's way.

Cas and his doppelganger grappled on the ground, each landing a few blows. Dean kept his gun aimed at the men, his chest tightening every time it seemed the Shifter would gain the upper-hand, but they were too close together for him to get a clean shot. They rolled over to the right, toward Sam, and the Shifter somehow managed to get Cas in a sleeper hold.

"Shoot him, Dean!" Sam called.

But Dean couldn't. He'd have to shoot through Cas for that to happen, and Dean wasn't willing to end a millennia's existence with a silver bullet meant for a monster. The catch was, that same monster was about to end Cas, silver bullet or otherwise.

Cas wasn't done yet, though. He flung his hand out, searching for just a moment before his fist wrapped around the handle of the knife. He had an awkward hold on it, but brought it up to the Shifter's arm anyway, slamming the blade into the meat of his bicep. The Shifter howled and released him, and it proved his undoing.

In an instant, Cas was up and straddling the Shifter. Then he raised the knife above his head with both hands and drove it straight into the Shifter's heart, right to the hilt.

It was kind of hot. For a minute, it was almost like Cas had gone back to his badass motherfucker days, only this was better, because he was pretty much human now, and he still made it fucking work.

The Shifter twitched and went limp, and Dean was next to Cas before he knew it, pulling the panting man to his feet by his shirt and clapping a firm, way-more-relieved-than-he-ought-to-be hand on his shoulder. There was a wicked shiner forming on his right cheek and his nose was bleeding just a bit, but he seemed okay.

"You good?" Dean asked, his other hand somehow finding its way to Cas' cheek. It was stubble-rough and slick with sweat, and Dean suddenly wanted to taste him. Again. He wanted to learn Cas' every flavor, every contour of his mouth, every line and plane of his body, every smooth patch of skin. He wanted to know and never forget. Never even get the opportunity to forget.

Cas huffed a laugh in between deep, sucking breaths, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"There is no verb in that sentence, Dean."

Dean laughed aloud, his grip tightening like if he let go Cas would slip away. The sound was a little wild, even to his own ears.

"Dude, come here."

Dean pulled him into a kiss and Cas didn't fight him, not even a little, and it was _brilliant_. His lips were warm and dry, and the moan Cas let slip when Dean sucked on his bottom lip was so mind-bendingly fantastic he almost couldn't believe it was real. But it was Cas, so it had to be. Sometimes Dean thought Cas might be the only real thing in his life, the rest just a wild fantasy concocted by some cracked deity and left to spin out of control. Being with Cas made the spinning stop.

_Kissing_ Cas was like melting. Everywhere they touched was a flare of heat, and Dean thought if they kept it up, he'd lose himself completely, that he and Cas would mix and blend and fuse until he couldn't tell where he ended and Cas began.

Dean dragged calloused fingertips up the ridges of Cas' spine. He was rewarded by a sharp tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and Cas slotting their bodies together so perfectly it was almost indecent. Not that Dean had ever been much concerned with decency, but Sam was clearing his throat insistently behind him, and suddenly things were a bit awkward.

The half-dazed, deliriously hopeful look on Cas' face banished most of that though. Dean hoped to put many more delirious, half-dazed expressions on Cas' face in the coming weeks, because he'd been fighting this for _ages_, and he'd be damned if he gave it up now. Not when Cas seemed to want it too.

"Um, not that I'm not _thrilled_ for you guys, really, but we should probably split before the cops get here."

As much as Dean hated to admit it, Sam was right. Not to mention how interesting it would be to explain exactly how Cas managed to kill himself. Evil Twin probably wasn't going to cut it.

"All right," Dean said.

"Wait," Cas said as they started walking away. Turning back, he bent down next to the dead Shifter and worked his jacket off of him, then yanked the knife out of his chest, complete with gross squelching and everything.

Dean thought maybe he was just a little more fucked up than he'd realized, because that was kind of hot, too. Maybe it was just Cas.

They hurried out of the fairgrounds, escaping just as the police were arriving and slipping away undetected. With any luck, they'd be totally out of dodge by morning.

They piled into the Impala – Sam in the back – Cas riding shotgun, and Dean, adrenaline making him bold, threw an arm around Cas' shoulders as he peeled out of the parking lot. He didn't pull away, and Dean smiled. He didn't know what came next, but he knew, for once in his life, he was willing to figure it out, because Cas was worth it.

"We are still going to the beach tomorrow, right?"

Sam snorted, and Dean glared at him in the rearview mirror.

"What? I think it's funny that he just stabbed himself in the chest, and he wants to know if we can sunbathe tomorrow."

Dean thought of being trapped in wacky-tea Dream Land and shooting himself over and over with a shotgun, and how it had really been more liberating than traumatizing. He wondered if the Shifter had said anything to Cas, if killing it had been some sort of closure for him, because Cas had honestly never looked more at peace since he fell than he did right then.

"Yeah, Cas. We're still going."


End file.
